


Love? Heavens, No!

by Blueleaf12



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Facebook, M/M, Minions, Swearing, betcha cant tell what the context is from a glance!, empath aziraphale is the best aziraphale, minor mention of gabriel and beezlebub, wine mom culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-03 13:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19464922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueleaf12/pseuds/Blueleaf12
Summary: What do you do when you have the urge to organize while thinking about a certain demon? Overthink things, of course.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired as a small sequel to my best friend's fic. It's Romance is Hell by Maze316. It is not required to read that fic to read this one, but I'd recommend you read it anyway for Crowley being a thirsty bastard.

Aziraphale, for once in his six thousand years of existence, felt the urge to clean the, pardon the language,  _ hellhole _ that was his bookshop. 

Anything was better than listening to his own thoughts running in circles. 

He was in his study, pacing around the cramped, but homey, room. He had a stack of boxes in one corner with more used books he had put off for maybe a decade or so. The box (and its contents) were miraculously free of dust and other pests. 

As he opened the box, he felt his mind wander more. He willed it to remain in the moment, but he felt it go anyway as his hands went on autopilot. Great.

“Goodness,  _ why _ did I say that!?” Aziraphale hissed to nobody in particular. The rune circle under the rug was silent at his words. “‘You go to fast for me, Crowley.’ That might as well have been a break up! Or a fight, or whatever.” He pulled out old, bent paperbacks, one by one, his hands gentle. “I felt how hurt he was, not that he’d ever tell me to my face. And I ignored it because I was angry at myself, and ignoring that… love, he felt. One that he tried so hard to cover up.  _ Stupid. _ ”

He slammed a book down with more force than he intended. The angel mug Crowley bought him rattled on his desk. 

“Maybe… maybe he thought it was because I insulted his  _ insufferable _ driving habits, and how much he loves his Bentley. But,” he stopped in the middle of setting another book down,  _ “what if he thought it was about our relationship? _ I  _ meant _ it to be about his blasted driving,  _ but what if? _ What if  _ I _ didn’t fully mean it in that way?”

Aziraphale turned and looked at the angel mug, now closer to the edge of the table than he remembered. With the faint wave of a hand, the mug was pushed away from the edge.  _ “Stupid. _ Still worrying about something from almost thirty years ago.”

He sighed and turned back to the stack of books growing. He took a quick gaze at the titles and covers. They looked like bad, middle aged mom romance novels. “It’s  _ so easy _ for book characters to fall in love… but that’s what  _ sells _ in humans. Half the time, the characters have  _ no _ chemistry, and marriage is  _ expected _ in humans.” He paused. “Not in angels, or demons, for that matter.

“Is this what  _ I _ want?” Aziraphale’s voice, still speaking to nobody, was so, so soft, and so low. “I just… don’t know.”

Aziraphale ran a hand through his hair. “I should talk to him. But I have  _ no idea _ how I’d even begin to tell him. I--”

Before Aziraphale could finish his thought, he was interrupted by the bell above his front door ringing. Some of the romance novels were floating gently around his head as he attempted to find a good place for them. At the sound of the bell, they fell back to his desk, barely making a sound. 

He went to the door to his study and peeked out the small window through the blinds. He saw two young teenage girls, about 16 years old or so, enter. 

Aziraphale walked away from the door, leaving the two girls be. He knew the type. No matter how nice he was, they didn’t seem to care much. His walls  _ did _ have literal ears, however, so he could hear them as he returned to the romance novels. Just in case if they needed anything.

Anything was better than listening to his thoughts running in circles.

“Why are we here again?” One of the girls asked, her voice perfectly clear even though she was across the bookshop from where Aziraphale was.

“I’m trying to find a birthday present for my mom, remember?” The other girl said. Aziraphale heard the gentle sound of her feet moving across the old floorboards that never squeaked. “She likes those shitty romance novels The mustier, the better.” She fell silent. Aziraphale assumed she rolled her eyes. “I think they’re rubbish, but whatever.” More silence as she continued to move around the bookshop. “You’d think an old, dusty used bookshop would have a lot of those, but I don’t see anything.”

Aziraphale, offended, stared down at the box of raunchy romance novels with disgust. 

Silence lapsed between the two girls. Aziraphale continued to stack the books. The box was nearly empty. 

Aziraphale heard one of the girls’ phones go off. Then, the first girl that spoke, the one not looking for a birthday present, exclaimed, “Ugh,  _ my _ mom keeps sending me those Minion memes on Facebook! No matter  _ how _ many times I tell her I don’t find those funny, she sends them to me anyway! Half the time, they’re, y’know, Wine Mom Humour. You know what I’m talking about.”

The girl looking for a book sighed. “Social networking was a mistake.”

“You’re telling me.”

The two girls looked around for a little while longer, before giving up and leaving with the gentle ringing of Aziraphale’s bell over the door.

Aziraphale stared down at the empty box. Facebook? Social networking? Wine Mom Humour?  _ Minions!? _ “What the  _ actual _ hell?” He muttered to himself.

He was quiet for a few seconds, then went to his phone. He dialed Crowley’s number without looking. 

_ It’s just to ask him about this ‘Facebook’ thing. _ Aziraphale said to himself as the phone rang in his ear.  _ Just about that. Nothing more.  _

As soon as he heard Crowley’s voice on the other line, he could feel that  _ love _ from Crowley’s voice wash over him. And in that moment, he knew the real reason why he called.

It couldn’t hurt asking about Facebook, though. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be honest, this was just a dumb sequel idea to this. This is supposed to be serious and not so serious at the same time. I hope ya'll enjoy anyway.

They went for sushi.

And then got fucking  _ wasted. _

In that moment, both Crowley and Aziraphale forgot about admitting their feelings to each other. Or even just talking about that  _ longing _ they felt. 

It was just alcohol, and memes.

It always seemed to boil down to that.

“Okay, Aziraphale.” Crowley said, his head tilted to the side as he sprawled in his chair. His glasses were askew on his face, exposing his yellow-orange snake eyes. His glass was empty on the table between the two of them. Crowley waved a hand, palm out, in front of his face. “Picture me in 2009. Facebook is booming, and my selfie thing took off--”

“I don’t understand your human metaphor, but sure.” Aziraphale replied, still sitting proper in his chair, but nursing vodka in a delicate wine glass. He was definitely smashed. “And didn’t Mr. Robert Cornelius invent the first selfie back in, oh, the 1840’s?”

“Angel, you’re putting my fire out, here.” Crowley said, giving Aziraphale a look, before continuing with his story. “Selfies were a  _ huge _ success, whether Mr. Bob Cornelius started them, or I did. The recent ones finally had a good use for fuckin’ ducks. Put teenage girls against each other, too. Beezlebub was happy about  _ that. _ ” Crowley stopped, taking a second to recollect his muddled thoughts, before going back on topic. “But  _ Wine Mom Culture. _ That’s a sticky situation. Started with white women specifically, usually those raised Catholic--”

Aziraphale let out a snort into his glass, but said nothing.

“--And forced to marry early to ‘wind down’. Well, maybe not held at gunpoint forced, but  _ heavily encouraged _ by basically everyone. Had the 2.5 kids they always wanted, and they hit a day they suddenly realize they don’t want this anymore. Their husband is shitty, and raising kids is hard. They don’t  _ like _ it. But this is what’s expected of them, so they only can cope by drinking. Throw in posting shit on social media, and literal  _ groups _ of these women on platforms such as Facebook, and  _ BOOM. _ Shitty Wine Mom memes. Beezlebub was  _ very _ much pleased. Put more women against each other, tested their faith in Christianity, indulge in physical pleasures, the whole deal.” He gave Aziraphale a side eye glance. “Indirectly affecting Heaven and you guys.”

Aziraphale’s expression didn’t change. “I’m not even mad. Gabriel just about  _ lost his mind _ when we started getting reports about all that. Wondering what they were even  _ doing _ .” He paused. “But why… ‘ _ minions _ ’?”

Crowley pulled an exaggerated snarl. “From the movie  _ Despicable Me.  _ A movie about a supervillain adopting three little girls and becoming a father.”

Aziraphale gave a drunk grin at Crowley. “Sounds like a certain demon I know.” 

Crowley gave a small noise that sounded like a strained choke. He then cleared his throat before he continued. “The minions were, so to speak, the supervillain’s henchmen. They were yellow, liked bananas, and  _ easily marketable _ . Gotta thank capitalism for  _ that _ once again--”

“--Thanks, capitalism.” Aziraphale said, his voice deadpan. 

“Anyway, the minions blew up. People were talking about them for  _ years _ . So many mothers took their daughters and sons and other children to see that movie. They were likable by the parents, too. And after throwing in some compulsory heterosexuality and the nuclear family dynamic with them against the found family trope, we get,” Crowley handed his phone over to Aziraphale, a particular meme pulled up, “ _ this _ . Genius, innit?”

Aziraphale set his wine glass down and took Crowley’s phone. He held it as far away from him as his arm could reach, and squinted at it in an attempt to read it. Crowley watched him, and looked incredibly proud. 

Aziraphale handed Crowley his phone back without a word, “Social media  _ was _ a mistake.” Aziraphale muttered, more to himself than Crowley. He took another sip of his vodka. 

“What was that, Angel?”

Aziraphale looked away. “Nothing, nothing.” He then looked back to Crowley. “You know it set back that generation for healthy relationships, don’t you?”

Crowley went quiet for a moment. “I do now.” He said quietly. 

Aziraphale paused, then downed the rest of his glass. “Well, I suppose  _ we  _ don’t have to worry about  _ our  _ relationship, do we?”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, and Aziraphale stared back. Then Crowley put his head in his hands, hunched over himself. “Why am I such a  _ good  _ demon!?” His voice came out as a slurred half-sob. 

Aziraphale reached over and patted Crowley’s shoulder. “There, there, dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robert Cornelius was credited to be the first person to take a selfie in 1839. Whether or not he was influenced by Crowley is unclear.


End file.
